


Bad Religion

by sangha



Series: Bad Religion [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, I'm so sorry you guys, M/M, Mentions of Bottom!Bucky, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Psychological Trauma, Unrequited Love, World War II, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangha/pseuds/sangha
Summary: The sweltering heat of summer was suffocating. Independence Day 1934 may have been a nuisance to most New Yorkers, the heat too oppressive to enjoy, but to Bucky Barnes, it was the most important day of the year. It was Steve Rogers’ sixteenth birthday. As he watched Steve unwrap the presents Bucky had given him - pencils and paints he’d spent more on than he cared to admit - and watched the surprised joy take hold of his expression, he realized one thing. He was in love with Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Frank Ocean's Bad Religion. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for the buckets of angst and pining.

The sweltering heat of summer was suffocating. Independence Day 1934 may have been a nuisance to most New Yorkers, the heat too oppressive to enjoy, but to Bucky Barnes, it was the most important day of the year. It was Steve Rogers’ sixteenth birthday. Just a couple of months before, Bucky’s parents had become strapped for cash. They’d been doing alright up until that point, but their savings had begun to dry up. Bucky was working full time and then some to help pay the bills. His little sister Rebecca was too young to contribute, and anyway, he wouldn’t have let her. He’d work around the clock to keep that from happening. But none of that mattered that day because it was Steve’s birthday.

As he watched Steve unwrap the presents Bucky had given him - pencils and paints he’d spent more on than he cared to admit - and watched the surprised joy take hold of his expression, he realized one thing. He was in love with Steve.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he tamped it down. He couldn’t feel that way about Steve, who was a spitfire even on his best days, but still the best person Bucky had ever known. He couldn’t corrupt that goodness.

Still, the thought would not leave him alone. Bucky lived for the way Steve’s eyes lit up when Bucky brought him a coke by the end of his work day, or the way he went off on guys twice his size because it was the right thing to do. Though he hated seeing Steve get hurt, he admired him all the same. He made Bucky want to be a better person, pulling him into a strange loop in which his love for Steve deepened every time he thought about Steve’s selflessness, only to feel like a bad person for being in love with his best friend afterwards. 

He only complicated things for himself when Steve’s mother died. He couldn’t stand to see the broken sadness in Steve’s eyes, would have done anything to take it away. He heard himself suggest that Steve move in with Bucky. “It makes sense, think about it,” he continued, unable to stop himself. “We can split the rent, so you don’t gotta worry about that anymore.” Steve agreed in the end, moving his things to Bucky’s place and setting up an extra cot in the one bedroom. Bucky silently scolded himself when he realized what he’d done. Steve would be here, all the time, sleeping just a few feet away from him, occupying the same space as him. It was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done, and he’d done plenty of dumb things. 

He tried to distract himself by going out with girls. Lots of girls. He had an easy smile and a smooth talk. It wasn’t hard to get girls to agree to go on dates with him. And here was the crux of his problem: it wasn’t that he _didn’t_ like them. In fact, he liked their soft laughter and their even softer bodies. He enjoyed kissing them and he enjoyed feeling them up even more - if they let him. He liked the softness of their bellies, their fleshy thighs, the swell of their breasts. But they weren’t Steve. He couldn’t get lost in the feel of them; every time he tried, a voice in the back of his mind compared them to Steve and they came up short every time. 

At first, he’d been sure that if he could just meet the right girl, his infatuation with Steve would pass. But six long years had gone by and his feelings had only increased in intensity. Every time he cleaned Steve’s wounds after yet another fight, he wanted to kiss the pain away. Whenever Steve spent a quiet Sunday drawing in their apartment, Bucky would be mesmerized by the movement of his hands, the look of pure concentration on his face, the way his tongue would dart out every now and then to wet his lips. He’d look until he couldn’t stand it anymore, only to resume watching Steve a few minutes later. 

Slowly, he had come to accept the fact that he was never going to stop feeling this way about Steve. He’d just have to deal with that. His biggest fear now was that Steve would find a nice girl and settle down, leaving Bucky behind. Though he didn’t wish his best friend any misfortune on the romance front, an ugly part of Bucky felt reassured that girls didn’t seem to be very interested in Steve at all. He could postpone the inevitable for a while yet. 

When those bombs hit Pearl Harbor, Bucky knew his life wouldn’t be the same. Steve jumped at the chance to enlist, fear gripping Bucky’s heart at the thought of Steve being out on a battlefield. Of course, Steve was denied. He had so many health issues, there was no way he’d ever be allowed to serve. Bucky didn’t even try to enlist. He never told Steve, too afraid of what Steve might say, but he wouldn’t leave his best friend behind while he went off to war. Who would pay the rent? Who would pay for Steve’s meds? Steve had no one else to turn to and Bucky wasn’t about to let him get turned out on the streets. 

His good intentions couldn’t stop him from being drafted. When he got the letter, he felt sick. At least Steve wasn’t home when he opened it. He thought of burning his draft letter, of running away and taking Steve with him. But that wouldn’t do. For one, Steve would never agree to it. He’d probably be disappointed to learn that Bucky hadn’t enlisted; he definitely wouldn’t help Bucky ditch his duty. He would have to endure this. This was his reality now. There was no stopping it. 

He decided quickly that if this was the road his life was going down, he might as well make the best of it. He didn’t just want to be a private; as a sergeant, he’d rake in a bigger paycheck, which meant Steve could live more comfortably in his absence. During Basic, he realized he was a good shot, hitting targets that the others found impossible to hit. At least he’d be useful in the war. 

And he was. He got along well with most of the others, and they respected him for his skill. They relied on him and it felt good to be needed. That feeling didn’t last very long, though. He never got used to the sound of gunfire or explosions. Images of wounded soldiers haunted his dreams. He could almost hear the bullets tearing through their flesh and muscles and bones. Worst of all, he was haunted by the image of a soldier he’d killed. It was a war zone, he tried to rationalize. He had to kill people, or they’d kill him. Still, when he saw that body lying on the ground, helmet fallen off his head to expose blonde hair, his young face caught in a permanent grimace, bright blue eyes still open in shock, he had wanted to throw up. 

His whole unit was captured not long after that. They were thrown in large cells, too many men in a space that was far too cramped. They barely got enough to drink and even less to eat. Whenever Bucky managed to fall asleep, his dreams turned feverish, waking up in a cold sweat every time. Eventually, he was removed from the cell by one of the guards. For a brief moment, he thought they were taking him to a sick bay, to take care of him. His hopes were evaporated when they strapped him to a table and injected him with something that made his veins burn. He felt as if every muscle was trying to fight its way out of his body. They probed and prodded and cut him and asked him how he felt. He slipped in and out of consciousness, reality and dreams mixing more and more.

He dreamed of Steve a lot. He dreamed that instead of that young German soldier, he’d shot Steve out there in the Austrian woods. He woke up from that dream, vomiting. Sometimes he hallucinated that Steve was right there with him, or that he was back home with Steve again. At first he tried to fight that train of thought, afraid the men in lab coats would know what he was thinking of just by looking at him. Eventually, he didn’t care anymore. He might die on this table. He could allow himself to think of Steve. 

So when he saw Steve coming to his rescue, undoing the straps that tied him to that table, and taking him to a safe place, Bucky felt a warmth spreading through him. They were in a cabin and Steve had started a fire to warm Bucky up. 

“I missed you so much,” Steve said and leaned closer to press his warm lips to Bucky’s. 

It felt as if every nerve ending had come alive inside Bucky. This was the feeling he had chased every time he kissed a girl, but had never managed to grasp. He took Steve’s face in both his hands, trying to pull him closer, even though they were already pressed together. Bucky wanted to worship every inch of Steve, offer himself up, give himself over completely. He would willingly surrender to Steve every day for the rest of his life. 

They didn’t talk; there was no need for words. Their bodies could do the talking for them. They moved together so well, it felt as if they had been here a thousand times before. Bucky mapped Steve’s body, committing it to memory: his long slender fingers, his slightly concave belly, the way Bucky could feel each rib, the slight hitch in his breathing whenever Bucky did something he liked, the way his soft, full lips felt against Bucky’s own, the way he got a little pushy and rough with Bucky, much to Bucky’s delight, the way he felt inside Bucky, filling an emptiness he didn’t know he’d felt. 

He could forget about his pain, the nightmares, everything that had happened since he left home. It was all forgotten in this moment with Steve. 

He woke up with a start. It took him a while to become aware of his surroundings again. Tears leaked out of his eyes, but he couldn’t wipe them away. His arms were still strapped to the table. He had never felt this alone. 

He lost all sense of time. He had no idea how long he’d been here. It might have been weeks or months. The days bled into each other as the doctors kept performing their tests. His hallucinations of Steve were a blessing and a curse. While they were happening, he could feel safe for a while. Afterwards, he felt an aching emptiness in his chest. 

Most of his hallucinations followed a similar pattern, so when a new one emerged, it confused him. Steve showed up by his side, as usual, but he didn’t look right. He was so much bigger than Bucky remembered. He thought that maybe his interrogators were trying to fool him, but his voice and the stubborn set of his jaw were unmistakably Steve. When he looked into Steve’s eyes, he was sure this was the real Steve. That shade of blue couldn’t possibly be copied. 

Bucky expected to wake up at any moment, but that moment never came. Steve really had changed. He really did free Bucky. Steve explained how he’d been part of some government program that turned him into a super-soldier. It made Bucky irrationally angry. He could hardly bear to look at Steve anymore. 

“Buck, what’s been going on with you?” Steve asked him one night on their way back to the base Steve had abandoned. They were alone in Steve’s tent. The other men would never dare to disturb them, even though Steve wasn’t a real captain. He’d proven his worth to them, regardless of his actual rank. 

Bucky didn’t answer him, but Steve wouldn’t let it go. “I know something’s up,” he said, stepping closer to Bucky. “C’mon, I know you.” 

For a moment, Bucky wondered if he had been hallucinating after all. Steve was crowding his space, not unlike the way he had in his dreams. But then, Steve turned away. “I just don’t understand why you had to go and do this,” Bucky finally said. He knew Steve would be like a dog with a bone until Bucky gave him _something_. 

Steve turned again to face him, frown lining his face. “What do you mean?”

“You were safe at home. And you signed up for some fucking experiment to go to war? Why the fuck would you do that?”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I had to do my part, Buck. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”

“You don’t even know what you signed up for,” Bucky spat. “You don’t know shit about war. It’s more than prancing around in that fucking outfit.” He didn’t know why he was so angry, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “You have no idea what it’s like out there. It’s cold and bloody and ugly.” 

Steve was visibly hurt, standing in the middle of the tent, looking lost. “So tell me,” Steve pleaded. 

Bucky shut down. He couldn’t talk about the things he’d seen, the things that had happened to him on that table or on the battlefield, so he didn’t. He left the relative warmth of Steve’s tent and burrowed down on the ground. Steve didn’t come out after him. 

\---------------------------------------

They were on leave for a few days. Many of the men who’d been captured could not return to active service. They were too heavily injured or traumatized to continue. Bucky wasn’t sure why he wasn’t in agonizing pain; they had certainly cut him often enough to permanently damage _something_ , but he felt fine. At least, physically. He was still plagued by nightmares every night, though he didn’t tell Steve about them. 

Steve dragged him along to a bar that night. It used to be the other way around. Bucky was always the one dragging Steve along to some bar, trying to have a good time. Steve had asked some of the other guys along as well - the ones who’d proved very helpful during their escape. Bucky suspected what Steve was up to, but he didn’t want to think about it just yet. And anyway, he knew what his answer would be regardless. He sat alone at the bar, drinking one drink after another, but unable to get past a light buzz. 

Steve and the others sat at a table a few feet away and before long, Steve joined Bucky at the bar. Of course, Steve laid out his stupid plan. And of course, Bucky was going to join him. There was no way he was going to leave Steve and his idiotic ideas by himself. And there was absolutely no way he would risk Steve getting hurt, while he spent his life back in Brooklyn, waiting and hoping for Steve’s safe return. He supposed that was exactly how Steve had felt when Bucky had left. But then, Steve wouldn’t have felt the same absolute need for Bucky. The thought of living without Steve was suffocating. He wouldn’t live in such a world. 

When Peggy entered that bar, Bucky’s world crumbled around him. This was the moment he’d been fearing for close to ten years now. He saw the look in Steve’s eyes, saw the home Steve could find in Peggy, and he knew this was it. He had to hand it to Steve: she was incredible. Smart, a little cunning, and absolutely stunning. He felt a grudging respect towards her. No matter how much he wanted to hate her, he couldn’t. 

They started going on special missions soon after that. Peggy met up with them now and then, mostly for briefings, though sometimes she also joined them in the field. Despite them being strictly professional, the Commandos gave Peggy and Steve some privacy whenever they could. Bucky spent those evenings trying to think of anything other than whatever Steve and Peggy were getting up to in their private moments. 

They went from mission to mission with barely any time in between to rest. So when they had a week between missions, it felt like a blessing. They had spent so much time behind enemy lines, Bucky barely knew how to relax anymore. During their week off, they were relocated to a town in the liberated part of the Netherlands. The Commandos had had little to do with that particular liberation effort, but they were going to cross into enemy territory again from the Dutch border, the idea being that they could move quickly by the end of their week. 

The population was jubilant - it was in sharp contrast to the subdued atmosphere Bucky had become used to. At best, the locals had been annoyed with their presence; at worst, they were starving. This town, in contrast, was still caught up in the festive atmosphere of liberation. There was a party in every bar every night, it seemed. The Commandos weren’t immune to this attitude: Dum Dum had been going on a bit of a binge, dragging Falsworth and Dernier with him. Not that they seemed to mind - they were happy to get completely wasted. 

Steve couldn’t get drunk anymore, he’d explained, but that didn’t stop him from going to these bars. Bucky drank more than he could count that week, yet he never got more than a little tipsy. Not for the first time, he wondered what had been injected into his veins. Any cuts or bruises he sustained faded far more quickly than usual and he didn’t need as much sleep anymore either. It was eerily similar to what Steve was experiencing. He didn’t heal as fast as Steve, but Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if they’d shot him up with some knock-off version of whatever had been given to Steve. He kept these thoughts to himself, seeing no point in worrying Steve when he wasn’t remotely sure that he was right. 

One of those nights, all of the Commandos, including Peggy, were hanging out in a bar. Steve and Peggy had gone off to a table on the side, while Bucky stayed at the bar. There were plenty of girls he could pick up here, but he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t really interested in much of anything lately. Gabe joined him at the bar after a while. 

“You don’t wanna chase after these girls?” he asked casually.

“Nah, gotta give the others a chance,” Bucky quipped. “How’s your girl?” he asked, trying to change the topic. 

“She’s alright. Swear to god, the second we get outta here, I’m marrying her,” Gabe said, smiling fondly.

“You should,” Bucky agreed. Gabe had always talked about her like she was the greatest thing to have happened to this planet. 

“What about you?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “What about me?” He took a swig of the scotch he was drinking, feeling the burn as it went down, but nothing else. He just wanted to get drunk on this godforsaken continent, was that too much to ask?

Gabe leaned a little closer. “I see the way you look at him,” he said, lowering his voice. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He could feel his cheeks burning and his throat felt constricted.

“You look at him like he’s your world,” Gabe simply said. There was no judgment in his tone. 

Bucky considered denying it again, maybe acting offended at Gabe’s suggestion, but what was the point? He glanced over to Steve, who was engrossed in his conversation with Peggy. He looked shy and bashful, a strange clash with his now hyper-masculine body. Bucky loved that he was the same, underneath it all. “Do the others know?”

Gabe shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“He’s gone for her,” Bucky said, to answer Gabe’s earlier question. “As it should be,” he added as a bitter afterthought. Bucky emptied his drink and ordered another one. Not that it would make much difference, but at least it gave him something to do. “You ever felt that way? Knowing they could never love you?” Bucky asked. It was the first time he’d admitted out loud that he had feelings for Steve. He barely even admitted it to himself most of the time. 

Gabe thought about it for a moment. “Guess not,” he concluded. “Viola was the first girl I loved. Musta hit the jackpot in that department.” Gabe paused, watching him with a frown on his face. “There’s nobody else?”

“Hasn’t been for ten years. Don’t see why it would change now.” He knew this wasn’t going to end well for him. It wasn’t just because of Steve. This war, the things that happened to him on that table, they changed him. Though he’d been in denial about it, he knew he wasn’t going back. He _couldn’t_ go back. Something in him had changed to the point of no return. 

Bucky finished his drink, headed back to their hotel and passed out a few minutes after his head hit the pillow. 

\------------------------------------

The weeks passed in a haze. Somehow it was even worse that Gabe knew now. It was more real this way, which made the accompanying pain all the more real, too. 

Peggy showed up more often and though she continued to be a consummate professional, it was clear to everyone she wasn’t just with them on business. Bucky watched her and Steve exchange looks, noticed the picture of her Steve kept with him at all times, and wanted to find a way to drink enough to forget those moments.

It was selfish; he felt ashamed every time one of these thoughts occurred to him. He should want Steve to be happy. He should want someone like Peggy to be interested in Steve. And yet, jealousy consumed him every time he saw them together. 

He’d been avoiding Gabe ever since that night at the bar, which meant he’d been keeping to himself most nights. The Commandos were a tight-knit group - they had to be to work the missions they did - so avoiding one Commando automatically meant avoiding the others as well. 

Of course, he couldn’t avoid Gabe forever. Steve suggested the two of them take the first watch shift. Bucky couldn’t refuse without raising questions and besides, he wouldn’t want to put Gabe in that position. Gabe had shared some stories of the shit he’d had to deal with, both inside the army and out, and Bucky wasn’t going to make him feel like he wasn’t welcome in his own unit. 

The others had long gone to sleep. They sat in silence. Bucky just wanted their shift to be over. 

“You know, there were these guys in my other unit,” Gabe began out of nowhere. “They fooled around a lot. Everyone knew, but everyone looked the other way. We kinda just ignored them, for the most part. Had other things to worry about. Until one of them got hit by shrapnel in one of his arteries. He bled out real fast. His guy was with him the whole time. He was devastated, after.” 

Gabe paused there, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he was even going to continue.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? At least Steve is alive?” Bucky snapped. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, or ever.

Gabe shook his head. “You remind me of him. You look just as devastated.”

His words landed like a punch to the gut. Tears were burning in his eyes, threatening to spill over, and he tried to blink them away. “It’s fucking pointless. Like a bad religion. Can’t get nothing out of it, but I pour myself into it until there’s nothing left.”

“What if you told him?” 

Bucky laughed, a cold and bitter sound he barely recognized as his own. “And then what? Lose his friendship too?” 

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “You really think he’d do that?” 

Bucky sighed. “No, I guess not. But what’s the point? He’s got Peggy. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“And you don’t?” 

Bucky didn’t answer that question. With every passing day, he was more certain he wouldn’t make it out of this war. And with every passing day, he cared less and less. 

\-------------------------------

Peggy hadn’t visited the Commandos in weeks. They were far behind enemy lines and they couldn’t risk exposure by having someone tail Peggy or any other visitor for that matter. Steve had been on edge for a while now and worse even, he began taking unnecessary risks. 

They were supposed to take out a Hydra base. They had a solid plan, but Steve had to go and pull some crazy stunt that left him exposed to a sniper. He narrowly escaped three bullets before Bucky spotted the sniper and took him out. They finished the mission as planned, with few other hiccups, but Bucky was rattled. Steve could have died there. If he had spotted those bullets a fraction of a second later, one of them would have hit him. Steve might be able to heal now, but even he wouldn’t be able to heal from a bullet to the head or the heart. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Bucky hissed. The other Commandos were close enough that they could probably hear every word, but Bucky didn’t care. 

“What?” Steve asked, confused.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. We had a plan and you decided you could take these guys on your own. I _told_ you there would be snipers. You could’ve died out there. What the fuck is wrong with you? You wanna be a martyr that bad?” His voice was rising with every word. From the corner of his eye, he could see the others moving away from them, apparently not wanting any part in this. 

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Steve retorted. He wasn’t yelling, but Bucky could tell he was restraining himself. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve. So you’re gonna keep pulling this shit until you’re not fine? How about looking out for yourself for once?”

Steve’s jaw set in that stubborn way of his, rearing for a fight. “I can look after myself.”

“Bullshit. You’ve never had a functioning sense of self-preservation. How long have I been cleaning up after your fights, huh?” Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, words he never meant to say leaving his mouth.

Steve’s eyes were blazing with anger. They’d had their fair share of fights over the years, but Bucky had never been on the receiving end of this particular look. “If it’s that much trouble, why’d you do it? Huh? Why are you here, Buck?” 

Time seemed to slow to a stop. It was suddenly quiet, their loud voices giving way to silence. Gabe’s words were ringing in Bucky’s ears. If he was ever going to tell Steve, this would be it. He opened his mouth, closed it again. 

“Buck?” Steve asked, quietly now.

“Because I love you,” Bucky finally said, softly enough that those four words would not leave the space between them. 

The words hung in the air for far too long. Steve looked shocked, surprised, taken aback. The longer the silence endured, the worse Bucky felt. He needed some reaction, _anything_ , from Steve. Even anger would be better than this. At least then he’d know how Steve felt. 

“I’m with Peggy,” Steve said, finally breaking the silence.

“I know.” 

“I love her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t...you’re my best friend, Buck. Always have been.” 

And there it was. The gentle rejection that was the best Bucky could have hoped for. “I know.” His voice cracked on the last word. 

Steve looked pained, conflicted. “This doesn’t have to change anything between us,” he offered.

Bucky smiled; this was so typically Steve. “Yeah, it does.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for not returning Bucky’s feelings or for his stupid actions earlier that day or for the fight they had. It didn’t really matter much anyway. Bucky’s soul was out in the open now.

They tried to go back to normal, but it couldn’t be the same anymore. Steve’s movements were more deliberate, more careful around him. Whenever Peggy came by, Steve tried to act more casual around her, as if to spare Bucky. It only served as a reminder of how weird things had become between them. 

They never got the time to work out a new rhythm. A few months after Bucky had confessed to Steve, Steve came up with the harebrained idea to jump onto a moving train. It was insane, but Bucky wouldn’t let Steve do this without him, and there was no stopping Steve now, so his decision was made. When his feet landed on that train and he felt steady, he let out a deep breath. He made it.

\--------------------------------

Hours later, after he fell, a blinding pain on his left side, his eyes opened to a sickeningly familiar face.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise there will be a part 2 and things will get better. 
> 
> Cry with me about Bucky Barnes on [tumblr](http://hufflepuffbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
